“He’s a monster.” Céline furrowed her brow. “And so Mercedes just tried to poison Keegan now?”
“She says you woke her up.”
Thinking back to her last conversation with Mercedes, Céline felt an unexpected wave of guilt. Had she induced Mercedes to try to murder Captain Keegan?
“You can’t tell anyone,” Amelie said. “I made a promise that I wouldn’t tell anyone but you, not even Jaromir—especially not Jaromir—and that I’d think of something to help Mariah. Mercedes says she won’t try it again, and in the end, not too much harm was done. Will you help protect her?”
“You know I will.”
“There’s something else,” Amelie continued, her eyes growing more thoughtful. “Mercedes referred to Marcus several times as a ‘shifter.’ I know I’ve heard that word before, but I can’t remember where.”
“It was Helga.” Céline remembered the speech. “Inside our guest room at Castle Sèone when she was telling us about our heritage. She said that Móndyalítko don’t have wealth or power in the same sense as the princes and lords. She said, ‘But they have their own bloodlines of power, the shape-shifters, the Mist-Torn, and the like.’”
Amelie’s body tensed. “I remember that now. Shape-shifters? Do you think Marcus has some natural-born power like ours but that lets him change his shape?”
Céline sank into a chair. “Oh, Amelie . . . I forgot to tell you something. I swear I wasn’t keeping it a secret. With all that’s happened since, I . . . forgot.”
“What?”
“Our first night here, Marcus was standing outside the tent. I was so tired, it almost didn’t seem real, more like a dream, but he let me read him, just for a moment, and I felt the strangest sensation. Instead of observing, I seemed to be inside another body, and I was running swiftly through the forest . . . on all fours.”
“On all fours?”
“Keep your voice down. Someone outside could hear.”
“Céline, if Marcus can change himself into something that runs on all fours, he just made it to the top of our list of people to investigate. He hates these soldiers, and he certainly has a motive to get rid of them.”
“So what are you saying?” Céline asked. “That he’s somehow infecting them with his own natural ability—if he even has one? We’re only guessing here. Do you think you or I could pass our gift to someone else and then twist it so the person goes mad?”
Amelie frowned. “I just think we need to pursue this.”
“Agreed. And we will. But right now, Captain Keegan has moved to the top of Jaromir’s list.”
“Keegan?”
“Yes. Come with me. I’ll tell you on the way.”
As Amelie walked into Keegan’s tent, the afternoon sun was already sinking, and she was disturbed by how much part of her wanted this corrupt captain to turn out to be guilty of the crimes here. She was hoping to do a reading and expose him as a false leader who was somehow destroying his own men in order to get himself relieved of an unwanted command.
While she didn’t view herself as a vindictive person, she wanted to see him punished. Thankfully, the better part of her fought against such instincts. She needed to keep her mind clear to be able to focus on the reading, on seeing the critical scenes of his past.
As she and Céline approached the bed, she looked down, and a different part of her wavered briefly. Corrupt or not, the man looked so . . . ill.
Worse, Jaromir stood there with his arms crossed, and she still couldn’t manage to meet his eyes. During the crisis last night, he and she had worked well together, but they hadn’t looked at each other, not after what she’d said to him in the tent. How could she have said such a thing? Why did such terrible things come out of her mouth every time he made her feel backed against a wall?
Captain Keegan’s bloodshot eyes were focused on Céline. “I’m told I have you to thank for my life,” he said hoarsely.
“I’d have done the same for anyone,” she answered. “But you’ll be in bed for weeks, possibly longer. Mushroom poisoning takes a toll.”
He didn’t argue. Perhaps he felt as bad as he looked.
“I’ve assumed temporary command,” Jaromir said, “in the absence of another officer.”
Keegan’s eyes rolled toward him. “Have you sent a messenger with a request for a replacement for me? Surely you can’t remain until I’m fit again. Your own prince must need you.”
“I will remain as long as I’m needed here and until I complete the mission for which I was sent,” Jaromir answered coldly. “In that regard, I’ve authorized this lady to do a reading of you.” He motioned toward Amelie.
Keegan’s eyes widened. “No. I refuse.” He tried sitting up and failed.
“You have no choice,” Jaromir went on, “and unless you allow her to touch you, I’ll hold you down.”
The captain’s greenish skin went pale. “Where’s Quinn?”
Jaromir ignored the question and closed the short distance between himself and the bed. Without any hesitation, he leaned over and pinned Keegan’s arms. “Amelie?”
“You can’t do this!” Keegan cried weakly. “I order you to stop.”
Amelie hated doing readings like this. Jaromir had once ordered Corporal Pavel to hold down a traitorous court physician at Castle Sèone and then told her to read the man in order to gain evidence to prove his guilt. It had been . . . uncomfortable.
But she wasn’t about to turn back now. Kneeling by the bed, she tried to shut out Keegan’s weak protests. Touching the back of his hand, she closed her eyes and reached out for the spark of his spirit. On the walk over here, Céline had related that Jaromir wanted to know Keegan’s secrets, his reasons for having volunteered to take this command—something more specific than gossip about a gambling debt.
A simple gambling debt wouldn’t be enough to coerce a man like Keegan into overseeing what he would consider a pack of shabby miners. It had to be more. And if so, how far would he go to be relieved of this unwanted position?
With her eyes closed, she cleared her mind and continued focusing on Keegan’s spirit, reaching back in time to whatever had brought him here to Ryazan. The first jolt hit, and she braced herself. The second jolt hit, and the tent around her vanished. She was swept backward through the white-and-gray mists. This time, she kept herself carefully separated from Keegan. She needed to view only as an observer, to see what was happening to him and around him—not to mention she was sickened by the thought of being inside his head and seeing through his eyes.
The mists kept rushing as she was drawn backward, and when they cleared, she found herself standing in what felt like an underground chamber lit by a few lanterns. There were no windows and the walls were made from stone. A man in a long tunic with a heavy blue gem hanging around his neck stood behind a long table. He was counting money into a bag.
Captain Keegan, Corporal Quinn, and a handsome man with thick hair stood on the other side of the table. Amelie studied the third man for a moment. His expression struck her as . . . fragile, as if he could be easily hurt. He looked out of place in his dark brown tabard and armor.
“All right,” said the man in the long tunic as he finished counting. “That’s it.” He held out the bag and pushed a piece of paper across the table. “Captain Keegan and Lieutenant Sullian, please sign at the bottom to verify that you’ve accepted this season’s pay for your men.”
“We’ve done this before,” Keegan answered in an unfriendly tone, as if he didn’t care for the man, who was probably Prince Lieven’s treasurer.
Amelie realized the third soldier was Lieutenant Sullian, who had transformed into a wolf and been killed before her arrival in Ryazan.